Prayers of the Penitent
by also known as LuLu
Summary: A Queens newsie tries to balance love and Catholic morality. (sounds strange, yes, but give it a shot)


_Disclaimer: _Newsies isn't mine, but pretty much everything here is.  
  
_Author's Notes_: It's a fluke that I originally finished this on Valentine's Day. It's not a VD fic at all; just a twist on the traditional newsie romance, using the 'Old Catholic' (pre-Vatican II and pre-Bishop's Human Sexuality Statement, to be exact) view of sex and sex-related things. I just wanted to try something different, set in the Newsieverse but without any real newsies or paper selling. Jem is an OMC I had actually conceived for another fic, but I decided just to stick him in here to see how he'd react to his situation. Feedback, as always, is muchly appreciated.

_Prayers of the Penitent_

  
If she could give an educated guess, she'd say that after Communion his mouth tasted like blood, just like hers did, but she'd never know for sure.  
  
She always watched him at five am Mass, the glorious, holy altar boy, donning a white alb and color cincture (sometimes green, sometimes white, red, or even gold, depending on the season). If she got there early enough, she could watch him light the candles and fold the hand towels. He always did so much with his hands, she thought, especially during the rites. He even got to hold the crystal dish they poured holy water into as the priest washed his hands. His hands were young compared to the priest's, with long, broad fingers, though usually his were much more weatherworn. She liked hands like his, the hands of a pious boy, but a working boy.  
  
Those hands, those strong hands of his…  
  
She wanted to touch his hands, and while she was at it, she wouldn't have minded if a few other things were included in the deal.  
  
Yes, she lusted after him, even during the holiest of times, and she felt dirty and shameful for it, too. These impure thoughts and the countless Hail Marys they brought about were sometimes too much. She hated it as much as she knew she had to obey it and believe in it, the things that the bishops and the priests and the holy man with the white hat said, the things told to her at her weekly confessions, the things he told her after Mass when she couldn't take it any longer and she snuck into the altar boys' changing room to see him.  
  
"We can't," he said as she moved to touch him, like always. "Maggie, you know we can't."  
  
To be frank, Maggie Petersen was exasperated with it.  
  
"Jem…" She sighed, watching him place his robe on a hangar, murmuring, "Jeremiah Ryer, God save you."   
  
"He will," Jem said softly in return. He was at the sink now, washing his hands. Those beautiful, holy hands. _For the love of Mary Magdalene_, she thought, invoking her patron saint like she always did at times like these, _why do they have to be so holy?_ Maggie hopped up on a table and watched him finish his tasks, the ones the other two altar boys, the two with earlier jobs who always begged Jem for the favors, had left for him. After Mass, after it was all done, she always accompanied him to the Queens branch of the New York World, where she'd leave him to sell his daily load of papers while she went to play governess for a pair of toddlers. The Queens newsies called Jem "Gospel" because of his devout, unflinching Catholicism, and honestly, Maggie couldn't blame them.  
  
"Jem, just one little --" She halted as the priest entered the sacristy and interrupted them, the first time she'd ever seen him outside of the chapel. He looked at her curiously, as an intruder to the God's room. Apprehensive, she slipped herself off the table and stood up straight.  
  
"She's here to ask about the schedule, Father," Jem said immediately. "Her brother wants to be an altar boy."  
  
"That's very nice of her to do us the favor," the priest said, looking at Maggie and smiling politely. She offered a weak smile in return. "We could use another boy for the seven pm Mass, if he's able to."  
  
"I think he's still at work at seven, Father, I'm sorry," Maggie apologized, observing Jem dry his hands from the corner of her eye. "When I know for sure, though, I'll come and sign him up."  
  
"That sounds fine." The priest looked at Jem. "I just wanted to remind you that starting next week you'll need the white cinctures. Tell the other two boys, too."  
  
"Yes, Father," Jem replied, lowering his head. "Thank you."  
  
The priest exited and Jem began to go towards the door. Maggie looked at him murderously.   
  
"Jeremiah Ryer!" she hissed. "My brother is seven years old!"  
  
"So?" Jem pulled his suspenders over his shoulders and exited the sacristy.   
  
Maggie dashed out after him. "So? I'll tell you so!"   
  
He turned to face her. "Simon'll be an altar boy someday, won't he?"  
  
"Jem, you lied to him!"  
  
"Did you hear me, Maggie? I didn't lie to him. He'll be an altar server and'll need a time to do it someday. Just not now."  
  
"A sin of omission is still a sin," Maggie pointed out to him.  
  
"Venial, I think. On the other hand, though whether we think about touching or we consummate, it's still a mortal sin," Jem rejoined.  
  
"Don't you dare go changing the subject on me."  
  
"I'm not. I'm just saying that some sins are worse than others. I mean, that's what God says. I never intended to tell Father Monghan about your brother. It was an accident he even came in there today. But you came into the sacristy after Mass with the intent to commit a mortal sin."  
  
"I never _intended_," Maggie tried to defend. "I just wanted to touch your hands." It sounded stupid when she said it out loud. She looked at her feet.  
  
"And it would have meant something besides friendship, Maggie. You know it. And that would damn us both."  
  
"I care about you, Jem. I want to show it somehow."  
  
"Sins of thought, word, and deed of a sexual matter are unequivocally considered mortal sins," Jem replied, almost reciting. "And--"  
  
"And what?" she asked, staring into his face again. His eyes looked heavy. "If we stay perfectly chaste, tomorrow we'll walk on water?"  
  
"Mag, don't act like a heretic. You know what God says."  
  
"And God is never wrong, I know. And I know He doesn't let things slide without proper penance. But Jem--"  
  
"That's why humans are the way they are, Maggie. We can't do it because it's evil, and the only reason we want to so bad is because we're evil and bad too." He sunk down onto the church's steps.  
  
"You're going to be late for work, Jem." She was irritated now, wanted to end the conversation for the day. He could hear it in her voice, but was not ready to let her go just yet.  
  
"The papers will be there, whether they're still warm or not." He looked at the cement next to him. "Sit with me, right here, just for a little. Please?"  
  
"Fine," Maggie relented, taking the seat beside him. "What do you want to tell me now, Jem?"  
  
"I…I care about you too, Maggie." Her face softened. "I mean it, I do. It's just -- I don't think about the things you do. I can't. I--"  
  
"You're better than me, is that it? You don't sin quite as much as I do? Maybe they should change your name to Virtue."  
  
"Maggie! That's not what I said."  
  
"It's what you meant."  
  
"It's not. Stop putting words into my mouth."  
  
"Before you can say them? Forget this, Jem," she told him, beginning to stand again. "Going through all this…it's not worth it for either of us. However God wants it, it's not this way. It can't be."  
  
She froze when she felt his hand grab hers.  
  
"God doesn't want it this way either, but look…" he said quietly. "Maybe it really is wrong, but maybe…maybe…I don't know how to put it…"  
  
"We can balance it," Maggie supplemented. "There's got to be a way to balance it before God."  
  
"That's why we have confession, isn't it? And atonement, too. To even out our sinfulness with the hope of salvation." Maggie nodded, and he confirmed, "We can balance it."  
  
"Jem, there's just one thing." She dropped his hand. "Before we walk to work, and you sell your papers…"  
  
"What, Maggie?" he asked.   
  
She leaned down to where he was still sitting on the steps, and, without touching any other part of him, she briefly brushed her lips against his, in her mind beginning her newest penance. He tasted like blood, just like she thought he would.  
  
_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee…_


End file.
